


A small loss

by JetPropulsionLaboratory



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Gen, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:36:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24447445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JetPropulsionLaboratory/pseuds/JetPropulsionLaboratory
Summary: An uniportant story about one resident of New Caprica





	A small loss

A Four finds the man working in one of the makeshift clinics. There’s a woman, heavy with child, and he’s tending to her. Listening to her pains and suggesting remedies. The Four is there to simply to observe and to intimidate; the lords and masters of the human race making their presence felt among the masses. He notes the man and woman as just a couple of humans in his periphery before consulting the many charts and tables that record the sate of the clinic and its occupants. 

It’s dry and hot in the cramped tent. Sweltering to the point where the perspiration of the many bodies cramped under the tarpaulin is collecting in the folds of the material and running down in faint streams to drip onto the dirt floor. Such excessive heat covers the people like a blanket. They are lethargic and quiet whereas before, in other locations, a clinic like this would be filled with moans and cries. The sounds of life and death, physicians and attendants moving franticly. Fighting too many fires on too many fronts.

The doctor (Is he a doctor? How many can they have left?) suddenly takes the woman’s hands in his own. The sharp movement draws the Four’s focus on the pair.

She’s old, is his first assessment, but he can’t be sure. There’s a panic to her, an emotional energy that the elderly in this place tend to conserve. She’s barely holding on, physically and mentally, and at any moment is likely to break into sobs that would fill the whole tent with lamentations.

The Four can see tell-tale signs of stress and exhaustion on both their faces, their manner too; red rimmed eyes framed by dark lines, a slouched pair of shoulders and gestures that belie a lost sense of self and surroundings. There is skin, cracked at peeling at the perimeter of their clothes which stick to them in the heat. The more the Four looks, the more details he considers, the more complete the picture becomes.

Still. There’s something always _beautiful_ about a mother bearing a child, at least to a Cylon. The Four doesn’t read as deep as some of his other kind would into that feeling. It’s simple envy to him, seeing what one wants and can’t have in the possession of another. He doesn’t ponder on why this pregnancy is different from the many he’s overseen in the farm.

(They’re trying something different with this camp. The farms are proving… lacklustre in their results. So here shall be a few natural pregnancies. A “…better sample of traditional human reproduction.” as one of his model put it.)

It hits him. Malnourished, exposed to extreme elements, limited healthcare equipment. Her chances are slim. Her baby’s chances are slim. Something close to desperation washes over the Four. He could project, block it out, but that would be admitting defeat to this…something feeling.

Details. Information. Focus on those.

She doesn’t cry. Holds it together long enough for this…appointment? consultation? to finish and another woman helps her to her feet and on her way outside. The doctor’s eyes follow the woman for a few seconds before slowly coming round to stare dead ahead, out into the open space through a door in the tarp.

He’s saying something, too quiet for the Four to pick up, and the angle isn’t clear enough for lip-reading. A slight turn of the doctor’s head reveals his face in profile.

Dead eyes. No energy, no sadness, just a hint of resignation. If the Four’s presence has been realized, it isn’t being considered. 

The Four turns to leave. There might have been a purpose in coming here, but it’s conveniently forgotten. Nothing productive can come from this environment. Someone more clinically detached can deal with this place - excise the pregnant woman to a more controlled facility. If he spends any longer here the deep, _human_ , despair might stick to him.

“Your fault.”

Quickly he turns back. It had to be the doctor, _it_ _had to be._ But the words leave without lingering, and the doctor is staring silently ahead again. No one else seems to have heard the accusation, or at least is doing an unnaturally good job of pretending not to.

It takes a moment for calm to reassert itself in his mind and soul, but once it has the Four can continue on his way. He’s heard far worse too many times for this to have a lasting impact.

Time passes, and the memory of that clinic and its inhabitants just become a vague flicker of regret.

* * *

The doctor is executed a few days before the fall of New Caprica. The Four that would remember him isn’t there.

Doesn’t matter. He’s not looking for recognition amongst his enemies.

He struggles every step of the way as they drag him out of the clinic and through the streets. The resistance earns him more than a few backhands from a Five and a Three who are command the centurions that came for him, but the sting of it is just another sensation and he wants to cram as much as he can into the short time he has left.

“You frakking monsters!” He screams for everyone to hear. There are a fair number of people gathered to watch his funeral procession, but he knows none of them are going to intervene.

“I saw what you did! Gods, all those women! How many are going to survive what you’ve done to them?”

The Five slugs him in the gut, winding him for a moment and leaving him limp in the centurions’ grasp. Something twists and crunches inside him. It takes great pain to right himself.

“Frak you.” He spits at the back of the Five’s head. The bloody phlegm impacts weakly to hang on the tips of dark brown hair.

A quick snap movement. The crack of a shot.

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting; hope you enjoyed.  
> I've had this sitting on a USB for a very long time but whenever I look over it I always enjoy reading through so why not take this opportunity to do something with it?  
> I'll likely go through this once I get a hang of how formatting etc. works, but I'd rather not stall and give myself the chance to chicken out of posting anything.  
> All the best, hope you're holding out wherever you are.


End file.
